Head Is Not My Home
by taralkariel
Summary: Shaken by the events of Civil War, Natasha goes back to familiar ground to hide. To hide and remember how she became the Black Widow. How Natalia Romanova would do anything to save her father-figure. How she was one of 28 ballerinas with the Bolshoi - no, one of 28 Black Widow agents with the Red Room. How the only thing that made her feel human was a man with a metal arm.
1. This Space Is Not My Home

**A/N: Titles from the MS MR song. This will include a retelling of comics panels involving Natasha, the Red Room, and the Winter Soldier. Set in the MCU to show how it could easily be canon there, too. Please read and review!**

 **This space is not my home**

She'd been on the wrong side. Maybe she always had been, maybe it had just been her last-minute actions that put her there, but everyone felt she was on the wrong side. And she agreed. The Avengers were divided and Natasha Romanoff didn't belong with any of them. Years ago, she had helped dismantle SHIELD, convinced it was the right thing to do. And she'd put all her eggs in one basket, showing that she'd gone soft.

Agents of the Red Room were expected to depend exclusively on that agency – malleable and adaptable they may need to be in the field, but they should always follow orders and return at the end of a mission. There was no place in the world for people like her, they'd said, except with them. Maybe she believed it at the time, but she could always think for herself and they couldn't take that away from her.

How might her life have been different if she had never stopped working for them? Department X had disappeared years ago. What would she have done after that? Her peers were long dead and she could only guess what those who were recruited after her might be doing; if they were allowed to work for the current Russian government, if they'd fled to other countries, if they'd been considered expendable.

It was a strange inclination, then, that led her to Moscow after Tony called her a double agent. She hadn't even tried to find Clint or Steve, just gotten herself a cover and headed across the world to a place that had once been her home. It almost seemed like a dream, now. The gravestones of her parents were much like they had been when she'd first found them, after destroying SHIELD. There were no other connections in this city to whom she had been – even the buildings she'd known were gone.

She found herself a nice hotel and settled on the bed, thinking. Turning on the television would only bring her anguish, as she was certainly still part of the news cycle. Or, at least, the whole situation would be, even if they didn't focus on her. She had several books along with her, one of which she had been reading before. But it seemed impossible to get back into it after everything that had happened.

Room service brought her favorite foods but they were bland and tasteless. She could hardly keep anything down as she considered the yawning abyss that was her future. Though she'd made significant changes in her life before, she had always made some kind of a plan first. She'd joined the Red Room with perhaps a little less circumspection than her other actions, but there had been good enough reason to do so.

She had been considering defection for a long time before Clint came along and offered her a place to go. SHIELD had been her safety net for years, even as she joined the Avengers. So, when it became obvious that SHIELD wasn't what they'd thought, she'd known she could stay with the Avengers and still work. But now they were gone and she had cut ties with so much of her past. She was too well-known to start over, and had no idea what to do.

While she took a shower, she tried to rationally consider her options. There were plenty of safehouses only she knew about all around the world. She had money stashed away, enough to last a long time. Particularly if she could settle somewhere and not move much. A number of her covers had not been compromised – fewer than she would prefer, but probably enough to keep her for several years.

Somewhat settled by both this analysis and the warmth of the water, she managed to drift to sleep once she got into bed for the first time in days.

* * *

She awoke with a start, leaping from the bed like a frightened animal. Pressing herself against the wall, she stared at the piece of furniture like it had attacked her. Like it was the reason she could feel fingers around her throat, her legs wrapped ineffectually around his neck. Perhaps a better tactic would have been to bring him down instead of attacking his head. That's what she usually did with that move. But the memory of trying that before and being thrown off was too strong. It had felt almost like a victory when he hadn't immediately flung her from his shoulders, giving her the opportunity to try for a little cognitive calibration.

It hadn't worked. Clearly he had been himself (or a different version of himself) later on, so somehow Steve must have gotten through to him. That shouldn't have hurt her the way it did. Nor should his unrecognizing stare have caused her to ask such a foolish question. Of course he hadn't recognized her. Of course this controlled Winter Soldier was not the man she had known. Of course the only memories he might have of her would have been in D.C., when she was a target. A target who had shot at him.

That fight had been easier, somehow. Hearing that the Winter Soldier was back had been terrifying, particularly when Steve revealed that the attack had been a successful one on Fury himself. No one could get to Fury. That was the first hint that something was wrong at a larger scale. As she and Steve went deeper into the rabbit hole, it became apparent that her worldview was founded on a lie.

Dealing with that fact apparently distracted her from any feelings other than fear toward the Soldier. He killed Sitwell. How he had gotten there or even known where they were was a mystery, but she was used to his abilities. Quick thinking on her part saved the three of them from being shot in the head, but he was always able to regain the advantage. Then there was only survival. She did her best to distract him from Steve, from Sam – though Sam seemed of little concern to him.

The whole fight was just a stall. She was no match for him. Not when there were innocent civilians around and few weapons at her disposal. The relentless, single-minded pursuit he exhibited had never been centered on her before, though she had seen it be very effective in the past. It was almost a surprise that he gave chase when she taunted him instead of finishing off Steve first. Not exactly a pleasant surprise, but it was nice to know she could have some effect on him.

He and Steve were much more evenly matched. And it was anyone's guess who would win that fight. Ignoring her bullet wound, she'd followed them as best she could, searching for a weapon. Finally, Steve got the upper hand for a moment and presented her with a chance to end this. Being arrested by SHIELD agents afterwards wasn't exactly a new experience, but things were hazy from blood loss and she struggled to care.

The revelation that Steve's old best friend had returned from the dead to torment them was a shock, but she was able to ignore how it changed things for a long time. Maybe even until she had seen him again, looking resigned and a little scared as they locked him up in Berlin. He had looked so… so… so much like he could be a regular person. Like he had been for years and the brief (to him) period where he'd been a weapon was just an aberration. Not his defining trait.

She hadn't spoken to him. Not until that moment when, feeling her air supply rapidly dwindle, she had asked if he knew her. The other version of him, the one that had lived in Romania for over a year, who held down a civilian job and had a little apartment – she would never ask him such a question. There was no connection between that man and the one she had once known.

There wasn't a way to make him obedient, not when she'd known him. So she had no idea what Zemo had done to him. If she had known such a thing it was possible, she would have taken precautions. What those were and how she could have convinced anyone to listen, she didn't know. But it ate her up to consider that all this might have been prevented by keeping a better watch on him.

In any case, Zemo had made him into someone she recognized, even if he was actively trying to kill her. He hadn't killed Tony or Sharon, though he hadn't been trying not to kill them, either. But it had made her think that maybe he knew her somehow, to treat her differently. Maybe it was wishful thinking – if such a word could apply to a deadly situation.

At Leipzig, he was someone else again. He didn't even look at her. The man she knew was gone and there was no point dwelling on any of this. Her life was in enough upheaval without replaying something as relatively inconsequential as her interactions with the Winter Soldier.


	2. This Head You Dwell In Is Not My Home

**A/N: Thank you for the followers/favorites/reviews!**

 **This head you dwell in is not my home, made a vow to cut it out**

She hadn't known her parents. She couldn't remember anything about them. Well, nothing directly. There had been the opportunity to research them in the intervening years, but the only parent she had ever known was Ivan.

Ivan Petrovich had told her the story so often it almost felt like a memory. He'd been in Moscow, he'd say. A lowly soldier, exploring the town, when he noticed something amiss with a nearby building. He couldn't say what about it brought his attention, but he hadn't been looking at it for very long before he noticed the smoke. And heard the baby crying. Dashing young hero that he was, he rushed inside. And that's where he found the little redheaded girl, who stopped her crying and smiled as soon as she saw him! The beautiful child was orphaned by the blaze and he didn't hesitate to take her in as his own.

Now, she wondered how much of that story were true. Ivan was never a mere foot soldier. Whatever had brought him to be near her parents' home that day, she prayed it wasn't related to the fire. The doubts that had plagued her since she was a teenager had never been enough to cause her to confront him. He was still, essentially, her father. And he'd been a good father, throughout her childhood and early adulthood. She couldn't imagine who she would have been if not for him.

Especially because he was the reason she had gone to the Red Room.

* * *

They were living in Moscow again. She always liked it when they returned here – it was where everything important was happening, after all. Their work took them all over the country, and to other countries besides. Ivan didn't like to tell her everything, but he understood her usefulness. Someday, hopefully soon, he would realize what a good partner she could make. He had allowed her to take on jobs on her own ever since becoming an adult, and she hoped that his trust in her would increase.

Ivan had no shortage of compatriots. A revolving door of muscle surrounded them, and a handful of lieutenants kept everyone in order while Ivan was busy. He worked with people, and for people, from all over. His business was getting people what they wanted for favors to be granted at a later time. It was complicated, but she had been allowed to join him from a young age and felt she was getting the hang of things.

She returned from the store to find their front door hanging open at an odd angle. Automatically, she tensed, walking warily inside, listening hard. All was silent. Then – a cough. A wet cough. Sprinting into the next room, ignoring the general debris everywhere, she found him. Ivan was on the floor, in a bad way. There was a lot of blood.

It took her a moment. She stared at the scene, uncomprehending. Then realization hit her like a truck. Ivan was going to die. She would be an orphan again. She had no connections, or few, and no options without him. He would be gone and her whole life would be empty. She wanted to scream or cry or run away, but, instead, she just knelt beside him.

"Ivan, I've got some water," she said, surprised at how calm her own voice was, holding out a bottle, knowing that water wasn't going to help.

"Just you from now on. Proud of you, my little girl," Ivan replied deliriously.

There was a sound near the front door, almost a knocking. She jumped, startled, and stared wildly around, wishing she had some kind of weapon. Ivan would have a gun stashed nearby, she knew. But it seemed unlikely he wouldn't have used it himself during the attack. Still, she forced herself to leave his side to search.

A knock on the door frame stopped her and she looked up sharply.

The man in the doorway was not anyone she knew. Being good with faces was an important part of their work, and, anyway, she didn't think she'd ever seen someone with such a blank expression. He took in the state of their home and Ivan bleeding out on the floor without batting an eye. And not in the way that suggested he had expected it, either. Just unimpaired calm, like he could handle any situation.

Her hands clenched at her sides as he regarded her, and she thought she saw the spark of something besides indifference – no, that wasn't the right word. He wasn't indifferent to the world around him. And he was certainly aware of it. Her analysis of him came abruptly to a halt when he took a few measured steps into the room. In the place of his left arm was a robotic replica. She wanted to look at it more closely, but she forced herself to politely hold his gaze.

"The comrade needs medical treatment," he spoke quietly, his voice almost gentle.

Hope swelled in her chest at that. Ivan made some sound then, and she looked down at him. He was staring up at the man with wide eyes and she thought he might be afraid.

"Don't, don't," he whispered, and her brow furrowed.

"My superiors offer you both this chemical in exchange for your loyalty," the stranger said, holding up a vial. "It will heal him – and increase your lifespans. But there is an extremely limited supply, comrades."

Ivan was still shaking his head, though his eyes were closing. It was too late – too late, she thought desperately.

"We say yes," she told him adamantly.

The other man glanced down at Ivan and a flicker of emotion crossed his face. It was gone too fast for her to be sure what it was, but then he nodded, impassive again. His movements were meticulous as he prepared a syringe, which he handed to her.

"Hurry," he told her, looking at her intently and making her think he deviated from some script he'd been sent here to follow.

She didn't hesitate, plunging the medicine into Ivan's arm. Biting her lip, she sat back on her heels to wait, watching him for any change. Slowly, slowly, his breathing became more regular, more obvious. His eyes fluttered and he glanced at her.

"Natasha," he murmured.

"Ivan," was her tear-choked reply. That seemed to comfort him, because he drifted off to sleep. She took that as a good sign, and looked up to find the stranger regarding her again.

"You are to return with me," he said quietly.

Rising to her feet, she considered. Ivan's life had just been saved. Their home was destroyed, and the people who had done this would hardly hesitate to do so again. So there was hardly any sacrifice in leaving. Still… "To where?"

"The Red Room."

She had heard of the place. Everyone had. Well, everyone in their line of work. It was a place only the best of the best could survive. "Why?"

"That was the bargain," he stated emotionlessly.

"I mean, what do they want with us."

There was a pause as he obviously considered how much he was at liberty to say. "Ivan Petrovich is a powerful ally. My superiors have been trying to convince him to serve Mother Russia with his gifts for a long time. And you…" He paused again, assessing her reaction. She took pains to assure that she had none. "They believe you will make a good agent."

"Who are you?"

He blinked and frowned a little. "Codename: Winter Soldier."

There were stories of the Winter Soldier, even then. Enough that she swallowed and wondered what she had gotten the two of them into. "Very well. Let's go."


	3. Take Things Slow As We Made Rules

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Take things slow as we made rules to reach our unpredictable goodbyes**

There was a car waiting outside. The Winter Soldier picked up Ivan and she was momentarily immobilized by the picture of Ivan, helpless, no longer the powerful free agent he had been for most of her life. How would he react when he found out what she'd bargained away? Would he think it was worth it?

The driver, an intimidating looking man in his mid-thirties, got out to see them all safely into the back of the vehicle. She watched the Soldier carefully, wondering that he sat with them instead of with the driver. Of course, there had been no warmth or camaraderie between the two of them, which was unlike how Ivan ran things. He understood the importance of creating a team. With trepidation, she considered what her future with these people might look like.

They traveled in silence. Lacking any other diversion, she watched Ivan, focusing on his measured breathing and trying to determine if a noticeable amount of color had returned to his face. Yes, she was pretty sure there was. Not much but enough to reassure her that whatever had been in the vial was helping. That this wasn't some kind of trick.

Oh, bozhe moi, what if this was all a trick? What if the Red Room had orchestrated the attack in the first place? It wasn't exactly an organization known for its scruples. What if they had done all this to get to Ivan? What if that was what he had been trying to say back at the house?

She looked sharply at the Winter Soldier, trying to read any kind of malice or deceit on his face. But, no, there was nothing. Just a blank expression. She had seen people keep emotions from showing, but that didn't seem to be what he was doing. It was almost as though he had none. A shudder ran through her as she considered that, given the whispered stories she'd heard about him, it could very well be the case.

Aware of her scrutiny, he raised an eyebrow at her, and she blinked at how, well, human the expression made him look. No longer like he was as robotic as his left arm. "Yes?"

"How long have you worked for them?" she asked, pushing down her embarrassment at being caught staring.

He frowned deeply and she was momentarily frightened before realizing he was confused, not angry. His gaze was focused on the middle distance, concentrating, though he glanced at her almost apprehensively. Baffled by his reaction, she wondered what she could possibly have said wrong.

"Not always," he said with some confidence, as though reassuring himself.

"No?" she replied as politely as possible.

"The Red Room brought me in recently. Before that I was…" he paused again, thinking.

"I understand if you're not allowed to talk about it," she told him quickly.

He looked at her in surprise, then seemed almost pleased. "Yes. I'm sure I'm not allowed to talk about it," he agreed, sounding relieved.

She offered him a tentative smile, but was glad that the car came to a stop. The Soldier waited, watching her, until the driver opened the door. Then he climbed out and she followed suit. Ivan was looking better, but was still asleep.

"Come with me," the Soldier told her, expressionless again. She glanced uncertainly at Ivan, then back, prepared to question the situation. "He'll be fine after he's slept. They will… let you see him when he wakes up."

The reassurances were softly and quickly spoken, and he barely looked at her when he said them. It took some effort not to stare at him in surprise. Or appreciation. "Thank you," she murmured, and followed him into the building.

A large and unadorned house was the headquarters of the Red Room. It had been the city residence of some count or another, back when the Russian people allowed that kind of thing. Now it was repurposed to serve Mother Russia, and the best agents in the country were trained there. Ivan had had dealings with them before, she knew, though she didn't know much more about them. She hadn't even known that the Winter Soldier was affiliated with them.

He led her down several corridors to an office, where a woman perhaps in her late forties was seated at a desk. "Thank you, Soldier," she said with a strange firmness when she spotted them.

With a nod, the man turned and walked away and Natalia fought the unexpected urge to watch him go. She had been distraught and he was the first person to offer any kind of assistance. Nothing more.

"Come sit down, Natalia Romanova."

She did as she was bidden, seating herself in the spindly wooden chair across from the woman's desk.

"Have you received any proper training?"

Natalia wasn't sure what she meant by proper, but she nodded. "Ivan sent me to teachers when I was young. I have gone on many solo missions for him since then."

The woman smiled, looking like the expression was rare on her face. "Yes, I have had reports of those. We thought you had potential. Do you, Natalia?"

Frowning at the question, she nodded slowly. "I am very capable, ma'am."

"Good."

After that, things happened quickly. She was shown to a room, but expected to demonstrate her skills that very day in the training rooms. There was no time to worry about her performance, fortunately, and the people who watched her seemed pleased. Soon she found her days carefully regimented. To be a Red Room agent required a great many skills – cryptography, language acquisition, all kinds of physical training.

Long days caused her to drop off immediately to sleep as soon as she was allowed to return to her room. She asked about Ivan whenever possible, but was not granted leave to see him, though assured he was recovering. That worried her. What if it was all a lie? Should she try to demand an audience with him? With her superiors? With anyone who might explain all this to her?

Ivan hated people who asked too many questions. Anyone with intelligence can discover what they need to know, he'd tell her. So she kept her fears to herself and watched, waiting to see what this was all about. Surely one of these silent, secretive people around her would drop something useful eventually and she could endure until then.

Early one morning, while she was in the training room, a sudden silence interrupted her sparring. The room was far from empty, but everyone had stilled and was looking toward the door. Natalia did the same and watched as a woman stepped into view. There was nothing about her that was obviously remarkable, nothing to indicate the reaction of the other trainees.

The woman walked over to Natalia and smiled at her. "You are progressing well, Romanova. We have a test for you."

Swallowing her trepidation, she nodded. The woman led her out of the room and through parts of the house that had previously been forbidden to her. The worry that she might be lost had begun to gnaw at her when they arrived at a small room lined with benches. There were several men inside, pulling on tactical gear and raiding the lockers for weaponry.

"You will find the American hero and capture him. Our new Black Widow will help you. Bring him here if you can," the woman said, almost smiling when she said the order.

"Yes, ma'am," the men responded, and Natalia joined in a beat later. The woman left and the men looked at her curiously, but said nothing. One, who was clearly in charge, gave the order and they streamed out the door.

Natalia looked down at her training clothes, comparing them to the clothes the men were wearing and grimaced. A brief perusal of the available clothes revealed a black dress in her size and little else. Well, at least then she could be more of a distraction – if her codename was to be Black Widow, she may as well look the part. She changed and was pleased to find some real weaponry also available. Feeling more secure, she hurried after the men.

They hadn't gone far and she was pretty sure it was just a training exercise. If they really had a hero, he probably wouldn't be let loose just to be captured by the likes of them. So it was a bit of a surprise to find Captain America making quick work of the men who had proceeded her. She blinked, and almost smiled. Not Captain America. The Winter Soldier. She recognized him despite the mask and made a mental note to keep away from that left arm of his. He was speaking – oh, calling the trainees idiots as he knocked down the next one.

"Some of them are, agreed, but not all of us," she said in English, smiling and stepping out where he could see her. And what she had brought with her.

He stopped, looking at her, assessing. "You think I can't disarm you?" he questioned.

Her smile widened. "If you take the gun, I drop the grenade. You take the grenade, well, you know what happens."

Maybe she imagined it, but she could have sworn a smile tugged at his lips in spite of himself. "This isn't supposed to be a live ammunition exercise," he offered, sounding amused.

"Rules are meant to be broken," was her saucy reply.

"Enough!" A man she didn't recognize, but who was clearly high-ranking, told them impatiently. "Black Widow, lower your weapon. And you – this is a training exercise, Winter Soldier! Stop injuring these men!"

The Soldier turned toward the man, good humor disappearing, and frowned. "No one pulls punches in combat. If you send them to America as they are now, they'll end up dead," he growled in Russian.

"What would you have me do?" the officer wanted to know.

"Bring me better men," was the flat reply. "Or women like this one," he added, glancing at her again.

"Thank you, Winter Soldier," she said demurely. "And one more thing – catch." Tossing the grenade to him, she grinned at his surprised face. The grenade began releasing smoke and he smiled back at her.


	4. Your Heart, Your Heart Understood Mine

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Clichemelancholy - Thank you! Glad to hear from you again! Yeah, I was pretty excited about this idea, and finally found time to write it! There'll be plenty more Red Room stuff ahead, don't you worry :)**

 **Your heart, your heart understood mine, found in forbidden nights, sharp as glass and twice as bright**

It was obvious that her actions had made an impression – hopefully a positive one. That afternoon, Natalia found that she had been moved to another wing of the building. Other women lived there of about the same age and she quickly discovered that they were all training to be Black Widows. Or the Black Widow. It was apparent that they were competing against each other at least to come extent and she had little doubt that only one would be allowed to take the title at the end of their training.

That wasn't necessarily a good thing, but she was finally taken after dinner to see Ivan. He was still weak, apparently, but had his own room, much finer than either of her own.

"Natasha! I have been kept caged like an animal for too long," he said, embracing her.

She smiled and struggled to contain the emotions she hadn't realized she'd been hiding since she came here. "Ivan! I was so worried," she admitted.

"Well, whatever they gave me, it certainly has had a wonderous effect! I feel twenty years younger," he told her jovially.

"You look it!" That wasn't necessarily true, but it was such a relief to see him in a good mood. Or at all.

"Sit down, my dear, tell me everything."

She sank into a chair and did just that, recounting how she had found him and they had been brought here, and all that she had been doing since. His face was expressive, as always, and she was relieved that he gave no indication that she had made a bad decision. If anything, he seemed impressed.

"Bested the Winter Soldier himself, hmm? I always knew you had potential," he said with a grin.

"What have you been doing?"

Something flickered across his face but he smiled again quickly. "Oh, you know, resting up. Doing what I can for our new employers whenever they allow me to be out of bed."

"That's good," she offered uncertainly.

It occurred to her that, though alone as they might seem, their conversation might not be strictly between the two of them. Ivan had always had ways of listening to others, so it would hardly be a surprise if something as effective as the Red Room had the ability to keep an eye on its people. Even when they were in private. The thought was somewhat unsettling but she tried to rationalize it as best she could. Ivan hadn't given the impression, even for a moment, that he regretted her bargain. And, anyway, they had saved Ivan's life and had high hopes for her. There was nothing to worry about.

The interview was cut short and she was led away, smiling back at him over her shoulder. That was the last she saw him for some time. If she had thought the preliminary training was hard, it was nothing compared to this. Her days were filled with learning and fighting and sinking into bed for precious few hours before starting it all over again. At first, she was cautious and made a lot of mistakes. But, as time passed, her confidence grew and she quickly began to outpace her peers.

Madame B was in charge of the Black Widows. What her real name was, no one knew. The girls were called only by their first names and were not permitted to fraternize. So learning much about the program took time. The woman was the same who had brought her to the training exercise with the Winter Soldier, and she came to watch the training most days. It was a goal of all of the girls to get Madame B to look at them fondly, and it was very rare.

Natalia felt she was more successful than the others, but only barely. Some of the girls were taken for 'treatments' every few weeks. They were the ones whom Madame B smiled at the most, so clearly outranked Natalia. They were taken in to be treated whenever they started getting confused or making mistakes that even the newest trainee would know to avoid. From the way she was advancing, she knew that she would soon be in the same boat.

It occurred to her that she should leave. That it wasn't something she would want to have happen to her, no matter how good an agent it might make her. But Ivan was here. And she owed these people everything. She had always been taught to serve Mother Russia over her own interests, and, besides, what else could she do? She'd been trained to be part of the intelligence community her entire life. Now that she was about to be successful, she couldn't get cold feet just because it wasn't exactly how she'd pictured it might be.

Natalia had no idea how long she had been there – maybe months, maybe years – before Madame B took her aside and told her it was time to be treated. By then, the thought of resisting was only a vague idea. She hadn't seen Ivan or spoken to anyone as long as she could remember, and she kept her thoughts to herself. Until even that seemed like too much of an effort. When she was given orders, she followed them, and kept her mind on how to do so effectively, not foolish things like whether or not she should follow them.

So she obediently went into a small room where a bearded man waited. He gestured toward the chair and she walked over to sit down in it. A strange apparatus was lowered around her head and then she couldn't remember anything more.

* * *

Natalia was the best ballerina in the Bolshoi. She trained intensely every day to prove the beauty of the Soviet culture. The ballerinas around her were no less focused, and she spent her days practicing. She was taught how to speak many languages, so she could properly thank their hosts when they were on tour. She was taught how to charm potential patrons to donating to the grandeur. She was taught complicated and violent dances, assured that this was what would impress those capitalist pigs.

One evening, she was just leaving her dance class when she realized she had forgotten her bag. The others went on toward dinner without her while she hurried back to fetch it. The room was eerily silent and she pushed the thought away as she found her belongings and turned toward the door.

"What are you still doing here?"

She froze in place and looked up at a face that was… was… familiar. "I forgot this," she answered vaguely.

He looked at her, cocking his head slightly, then gave an almost bitter smile. "They've made you forget. I know what that's like. I hate when it starts to come back, don't you?"

Blinking, she tried to follow what he was saying. His left arm lifted to push his hair out of his face and she stared at the robotic appendage. The Winter Soldier. Ivan! She wasn't a ballerina, she was an agent for the Red Room. The treatments! Her teeth bared in anger and she stalked forward.

He caught her arm gently in his real hand. "Hey, stop. Where are you going?"

"To make them pay for what they did to me," she snapped, pulling against his grip ineffectually.

"Wait." Something in his tone more than the word itself made her stop and let him turn her to face him. "You know you can't. They'll just do it again."

She looked up at him, searching his face. Yes, she supposed he was right. It was the Red Room. They were untouchable. The program was to make her a better agent, whether she liked it or not. And, if being a ballerina was her cover to get close to high-ranking officials, they had certainly made it a thorough one. Even she would forget who she really was, presumably until it was necessary to remember. So, it was effective. But she didn't have to like it.

"They do this to you?" she asked, remembering his confusion when she had asked him about the Red Room in the car that took her here, what seemed a lifetime ago.

He nodded. "Whenever I start asking too many questions about how I got here."

It had been a while since her last treatment. Maybe that's why she was able to recall meeting him before. Maybe it had been a while since his last one, too. "How long have you gone between treatments?"

His rueful expression made her realize the foolishness of her question. "I've learned not to ask much, and they leave me alone. As long as I'm doing what they ask me to do, they don't really care what I know or don't."

That was good advice. Perhaps she could delay being treated for some time if she acted like they expected her to. But that didn't seem much better – was being their unwitting tool really so much worse than just pretending to be?

"You'd better go before they send someone to find you," he told her, and she was surprised by the concern on his face. The other girls were relentlessly competitive and Ivan was hidden from her, so she hadn't seen any genuine concern in a long time. And on the face of the dreaded Winter Soldier?

"Can I see you again?" she asked, trying not to sound like it was her last hope for sanity. Even if it just might be.

He looked startled, glancing toward the door and then back to her. "I'd like that," he murmured, giving the impression that he hadn't considered what he liked in a very long time. Hastily, he explained where his quarters were and she nodded, preparing to leave.

"Thank you," she told him, and impulsively stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. Grinning at his shocked expression, she headed toward dinner, feeling hopeful.


	5. Ignore the Promises We Made

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Ignore the promises we made, forgotten now, we'll never get our way**

Somehow, things were easier after that. She knew the persona they wanted her to have – the prima ballerina of the Bolshoi – and she could play that part. Weeks went by without anyone thinking she needed a treatment. Her days were just as full as before and it was easy to convince them she had no memory of anything but what they had given her. The life she'd had before, with Ivan in Moscow, seemed to have a fluttery quality now and was hard to pin down. She didn't try. It was enough to know that this wasn't all there was, wasn't all who she was, that they hadn't taken over her completely.

She didn't see the Winter Soldier very often. But sometimes, when she sat in her room at night and couldn't remember the color of her house or Ivan's favorite drink, it felt like a necessity to go to see him. He wasn't always there, of course; they kept him busy. When he was there, they would talk. Or rather, she would talk. She would tell him everything she could think of about her life outside this place and he would listen intently, as though soaking up what she had to say. Very occasionally, he would tell her something he could remember. When he volunteered any information about himself, she would do her best to commit it to memory, so at least someone would know.

About half the time, he wasn't there. On a mission or debriefing or training. Those nights, she would remind herself that her superiors didn't think she even knew where he stayed, or that she knew him at all. So it was still recovering a little freedom to go somewhere of her own volition, even if she didn't get to speak to anyone.

Now that she had a cover, she did not see Ivan. That was a relief. If she did see him, she wasn't sure if she should pretend to know him or not. Perhaps they had included him in her programming of a cover, but perhaps she would give away her need for another treatment if she saw him. There was no way she could hide recognition of the man who was essentially her father. She had a vague hope that, whenever this mission was over, she might be taken to see him again.

Surely the mission would end eventually, right? They were clearly training for something. Any assignments into the field were short and of little consequence, so she figured it was just practice for a larger undertaking. A part of her was nervous at the thought. What if she failed? What if she let everyone down and they sent her and Ivan away? That would be alright but she was well aware that they were far more likely to kill the both of them than let them leave. They knew too much.

Natalia didn't necessarily regret her bargain with them. Ivan was alive. She was working for the best people in the intelligence community. They were training her to be as effective as any spy who had come before her, if not more so. Whatever Ivan was doing would certainly be just as prestigious. They had been outside the established order before, scraping by, but now were successful. Her little rebellions were just a way to deal with their intense methods, not an indication of her wanting to be rid of this place entirely. Right?

* * *

"Natalia, come with me," Madame B said to her very seriously one morning. She had been in the middle of sparring with one of the other girls, but stopped immediately to follow her mistress. They walked from the training room into an office down the hall. It wasn't Madame B's office but was empty nonetheless. People did not stick around her if they could help it.

After she initially began pretending to delay treatments, Natalia had been nervous whenever one of her superiors addressed her directly. Would they notice? What tells did she have that she hadn't realized? But, by now, she had successfully fooled everyone for over a month. So she felt reasonably confident that she could maintain her charade, even in front of Madame B.

"I have wonderful news for you, my dear."

"I'm glad to hear it, Madame," she replied flatly. The other girls showed little emotion after being treated and she assumed that must have been true of herself as well.

"You are one of our star ballerinas. Tonight, you will accompany General Pushkin to dinner. He will introduce you to Colonel Shostakov. You are to entertain him, do you understand? He's a very well-connected pilot."

"Yes, Madame."

Madame B looked at her intently for a long moment. "Now, let's go see about another treatment for you. I'd hate for the interview to go poorly because you aren't feeling well."

Natalia fought the rising panic and followed the woman toward that room. It would be alright, she told herself. She had broken it before, she could again. And, worst case, the Winter Soldier was bound to come looking for her when she didn't visit for a long time. He had much more freedom to move about the facility than she did, and the sight of him should serve as a reminder again.

"Just a little touch – we don't want her catatonic. Alexei still needs to enjoy her company," Madame B instructed the bearded man before flashing her a smile and leaving her alone. The appliance was fitted over her face and she sank into oblivion.

* * *

Her hand was on the General's arm, and she smiled up at him. He was quite handsome, for an older man. "How about a drink, my dear?" he offered.

"That would be lovely," she told him.

He led the way down a narrow corridor to a room that must be his office. Someone's office, anyway. But he opened a drawer and pulled out some vodka, so probably his office. He poured three glasses and she waited, unsurprised by bootsteps behind her.

"Ah, Comrade, how pleasant of you to join us," General Pushkin greeted the newcomer.

Natalia turned to greet him as well and was surprised to find a man hardly older than herself. He smiled at her a little shyly. "General, I did not realize you were entertaining such a lovely guest."

The general waved his hand dismissively. "Come, have a drink."

Shostakov did not need to be asked twice and Natalia watched with a sort of detached interest as the two of them exchanged stories about people she didn't know. Perhaps she looked bored after a while, because General Pushkin glanced at her and then stood up abruptly. "Comrade Colonel Shostakov, Comrade Romanova. Please excuse me. I'm called away on business. I'll leave you kids to get better acquainted," he added with a laugh.

She smiled, and Shostakov did as well. "Please, call me Alexei," he said as soon as they were alone.

"Call me whatever you like," she replied demurely.

A startled look passed over his face, then he laughed.

"But my name's Natalia." Was she supposed to say that?

"So, Natasha, then?" he suggested, grinning.

She blinked, thinking of someone else calling her that. But who?

"What do you do to serve the glorious advancement of the worker's paradise?"

The question seemed to come through a thick cloud and she struggled to focus on it. There was a roaring in her ears and the room seemed very far away as she was struck by the knowledge that someone, someone important, used to call her Natasha.

"What do I… I… I'm one of the twenty-eight young ballerinas with the Bolshoi. The training is hard… but the glory of Soviet culture… and the warmth of my parents…" Parents? Ivan? "My… parents… Makes up for… no… No, that's not right," she said firmly. "I'm one of the Black Widow agents with the Red Room. The training is hard… but the glory of Soviet supremacy, and the warmth of my parents… all my… parents… makes up for… You'll have to excuse me," she added a little desperately.

This wasn't right. What was right? She didn't know. She was doing badly. There was something she was supposed to do, and, from the way he was looking at her, this wasn't it. Failing would cost her – something. But what?

"A secret agent? What are you talking about? How old are you?" he demanded, cleaning up the drink she hadn't even realized she'd dropped in her confusion.

"Seventeen. Twenty-nine. And I should tell you I'm… single. Seeing someone."

He frowned at her. "I don't know if this is some kind of joke, comrade, but it is not funny."

With that, he got to his feet and stalked out of the room. She stared after him, wishing she could understand what had happened and what she was supposed to do now. There was an unerring feeling that she was supposed to do something. She had been sent here for a reason. Hesitantly, she got to her feet and walked toward the door. Nothing stopped her and she didn't know why she thought someone might.

Her feet seemed to know where she was and she made her way down vaguely familiar hallways until she was outside. The snow crunched under her feet in a way that made her feel a little better, anyway. She hadn't gotten very far when a car came to a stop next to her. She looked at it uncertainly, then back at the sidewalk ahead of her.

The door opened and a man stepped out. A familiar man. Relief flooded through her as she remembered him. The Winter Soldier. His face was impassive and she forced hers to be as well. He motioned for her to get in the car, which she did, and she was disappointed to see another familiar face – Madame B.

"You were to charm him," she said coldly.

Natalia fought the urge to glance at the Winter Soldier. Was that her mission? "I was confused," she murmured, looking down at her lap.

"I can see that." The harshness of the response cut through her and she kept her eyes downcast. "In any case, we will just have to try again later. Hopefully you haven't said anything to make this irreparable."

She didn't know what to say to that, so they rode in silence back to the Red Room facility. When they arrived, Madame B sent her to her room and went off toward another part of the building. The Winter Soldier stood silently behind her, waiting.

"I forgot again," she murmured, turning to look up at him. "I was doing so well, but she wanted me treated again before the mission. I got confused when he reminded me of Ivan. Of what Ivan used to call me." The explanation came out in a rush, almost as fast as she was realizing that was what happened.

His expression softened. "It's alright. Maybe they'll learn not to do it again right before you have to work."

"Maybe." She bit her lip, meeting his gaze. "Why do you think they wanted me to charm that man? Does he have secrets they want?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

He sounded doubtful and she considered. Shostakov was young and – what had Madame B said? – well connected. So perhaps extracting information from him wasn't exactly what they'd had in mind. "You think they wanted me to… to be with him?" She thought of what she'd said last to Shostakov, not understanding at the time why she would say such a thing.

"Yes," the Winter Soldier said shortly, looking away.

She blinked at the expression on his face, at his reaction. Then her stomach flip-flopped when he looked at her again. "You don't want me to be with him," she stated.

"No."

Glancing around to be sure they were alone, she took a step toward him. "And why is that?" she breathed.

He regarded her, trying in vain to keep his expression passive. "I think you know," he offered.

There were a lot of things she could endure. Bone-breaking training, fierce competition, lessons drilled into her head at all hours, being allowed very little sleep, maybe even having her memories altered. But this… They would force her into a relationship with a man she didn't know? While she was forced to pretend to be someone else? That was a hard pill to swallow. Especially when the Winter Soldier was there, helping her stay sane, looking at her like that.

Resolve caused the fuzzy feeling in her head to fade. "Follow me," she told him. Without waiting for his response, she turned and began walking. The sound of his bootsteps behind her was both a relief and exhilarating as she carefully led them through the facility to her room. Once there, she paused outside the door. He stopped a few feet away, watching her guardedly.

"I know you don't remember. And sometimes neither do I. And I know… how this will probably end. But…" She struggled for the right words. "Will you… would you like to spend the night here?" she finished in a whisper, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

He moved closer and his fingers were warm as they tilted her chin up. "If it's what you want," he answered quietly, searching her face.

The idea of asking for what she wanted was frightening and she couldn't remember the last time her personal desires had factored into what she was doing. Well, they would tonight at least. And she wouldn't let herself think of anything beyond that. In response to his question, she stood on her toes to kiss his lips. They were soft and inviting and she couldn't get her door open fast enough.


	6. My Mouth, Your Lips, Your Hands, My Hips

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing! Just to clarify, in the comics, Natalia is 29 at this point. If we're going with the MCU, she's probably a bit younger, but the flashbacks in AoU (around when this is happening) would definitely put her in her twenties. So she's around the same age as Bucky actually is.**

 **ClicheMelancholy: Thank you! I'm glad I got a good mix of sweet and tragic :) And it's great to hear that you like the Winter Soldier in this! I would absolutely love seeing him in a Black Widow origin story, definitely! I'm glad you liked the part with Alexei, and I'm delighted to hear the emotions are coming across well. I hope your manic buckynat shipping heart enjoys this chapter :P**

 **My mouth, your lips, your hands, my hips**

Natalia Romanova pulled a man into her room. That was definitely not something the Red Room would allow. Worse still, the man was the infamous Winter Soldier. They would certainly consider this kind of behavior to indicate he had been compromised. In short, this was probably the stupidest thing either of them had ever done. But she couldn't let them dictate every part of her life. She needed to be in control of something.

"Natalia," he breathed into her hair when she turned around to shut the door behind them. She didn't know his name, if he even had one. Asking would spoil the mood, would bring up things neither of them wanted to think about right now. So, instead, she slid her fingers through his hair and drew his lips back to hers. His arms wrapped around her, the left one a little more distant. Was he afraid he might hurt her with it?

The heat of being surrounded by him made it hard to concentrate, but she wanted to make sure he understood. "Wait," she whispered.

He froze immediately, then started to move away.

Her hands stayed his retreat and she waited until he looked at her. "There has to be something that isn't theirs. You're… you're the only one who understands that," she told him.

His right hand gently cupped her cheek and he brushed his lips across hers. "You're the only one who looks at me like I'm… like I'm a person."

She ached to be able to call him something besides Soldier, realizing with horror how thoroughly they had taken everything from him. Was that to be her fate as well? Would she still know him when it was?

Shaking off that thought, she pulled him close again. Even if… even if that was her future, she would delay it as long as possible. He touched her like a dying man seeks rescue, and she was no less desperate. They were a blur of skin and hands and tongues and she couldn't keep track of how they progressed to her bed, or when they took off what clothing. It was the most life-affirming thing she had ever done, and she nestled against him afterward, thinking it would have been worth it no matter what happened.

* * *

"Natalia," he murmured some time later. She'd been nearly asleep and dragged herself awake.

"Yes?" she asked, turning in his arms to look at him.

"I should go."

More alert now, she nodded regretfully, glancing away.

"What are you rethinking?" he wanted to know, sounding worried.

She kissed him reassuringly, aware of what he was likely concerned about. "I just wish you didn't have to leave."

A slight smile crossed his lips and he looked relieved. "Me too." His arms tightened around her and he let out a sigh.

"You don't regret doing this, do you?" she wanted to know, afraid that maybe this would cause him more pain than anything else.

He chuckled, the sound unexpected and clearly something he hadn't done in a long time. "Natalia, this is the best thing that's happened to me for as long as I can remember," he told her sincerely and kissed her firmly.

"That's good to hear," she whispered. Pulling him to her, she made it clear that she wasn't ready for the night be over just yet.

* * *

He snuck out far too early and she hated to see him go. Especially since she didn't know when she could see him again. She'd pressed a last, desperate kiss to his lips before watching him leave and hiding a smile. Was there anything the Winter Soldier wasn't good at?

It was hard to concentrate during the day, but fortunately no one suggested she have any further treatments. She was very tired as she moved through her daily routine. Soon enough, it was night and she was all too happy to sink into her bed, even if it was alone. His scent lingered and an almost contented sigh slipped out of her before she slept.

The next morning was harder. She was alert enough to worry that someone might find out, that they hadn't been sufficiently discreet. But many days usually passed between seeing him before, and not catching a glimpse of him for a day now was nothing to worry about. He was probably working, as she should be.

They were training for something and Natalia worried when her instructors no longer pushed her as much as they had been. Was something amiss? Was she no longer pleasing them? Did they know of her rebellions? No one had mentioned that colonel – Shostakov – and perhaps her failure there made them no longer value her.

Determined to find out how tenuous her future might be, she began to keep a closer watch on the other girls. They were still excelling, still being taught harder lessons every day. So perhaps she had lost her edge. The thought frightened her and she threw herself into her work, determined to impress.

After a week of this, she was exhausted and lingered over her dinner, too tired to eat quickly. The hall where they took their meals was nearly silent as always. One of the other girls, Elena, suddenly began screaming. Everyone jumped and swiveled to look at her. There was no reason for her reaction, and a couple of men got up, heading toward her.

As soon as they got close, she fell silent but lashed out. The only weapon available was her fork, but she used it to devastating effect – proving how good their training really was. That galvanized the rest of the room, jumping to their feet and backing away from the scene, some leaving entirely. Natalia joined the rest, aware that she must maintain the illusion of her programming, and that such a scene would surely shock and dismay a ballerina.

"Return to your quarters," Madame B's imperious voice came out of nowhere and Natalia jerked her head to see where the woman had entered the room.

Everyone began streaming out and Madame B headed for Elena, speaking in a soothing voice words that were too quiet for Natalia to hear. Was all this because of the treatments? Elena had been here far longer than she had, had been one of those getting them for a much longer time. Would Elena recover? Or would they all eventually snap because of what was done to them?

People were milling about outside the hall and there was general confusion and disorder. That was rather rare in the Red Room, and Natalia decided to take advantage of it. Especially as she felt in need of reassurance. The Winter Soldier had been subject to their treatments for far longer than any of them – hadn't he? She had heard of him years ago, and Elena couldn't have been here that long.

A wave of disappointment engulfed her when she reached his room and found it empty. She lingered in the hallway, unwilling to return to her room unsuccessful. Biting her lip, she listened for the sound of anyone approaching. Although, if she did hear someone, she wasn't sure how she should react. It might be him but it might not.

Instead of hearing either, she heard something else – a shower. There were locker rooms in most sections of the facility and she was impressed by the thought that he might have his own bathroom. Trying several doors before finding the right one, it appeared that he didn't have quite that much privacy. Still, the nearest rooms were empty and there were only three showers. So he likely expected to be alone despite the door not locking.

It occurred to her that it might not be him, so she listened intently. He didn't say anything, but she was pretty sure the unique sound of water hitting metal could only be his arm. No one else had such a thing. Hesitantly, she removed her clothes and wrapped herself in a towel, thinking of reasons to explain her presence here should she be caught, and moved closer.

A hand shot out from behind the curtain to grasp hers and pulled her inside with a 'ha!'

She cried out in surprise, then smiled at the Winter Soldier in relief.

"Trying to sneak up at me? You're not that good yet, Natalia," he told her in his slightly accented Russian.

"Speak in English, I need the practice," she told him.

A devilish grin crossed his face as he pulled her closer. "Well, then, let's practice."


	7. Our Time Right Now Will Set Us Free

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Our time right now will set us free and relieve us of our misery**

Natalia knew where his room was. She knew where he was debriefed and was usually able to find out his schedule before he did. Not that his handlers considered it important to let him know what he would be doing or where he would be going. That information was often unavailable even to her, but she knew when he would be there and when he would not. When he was there, she spent any free moment she could steal with him.

The Black Widows who remained began attending weekly lessons from the Winter Soldier, or the American, as many called him. He taught them about American culture to better prepare them for manipulating the high-ranking officers they would soon be called upon to meet. Many of his skills could not be taught, but he also trained them to fight sometimes. He knew techniques that would help smaller persons such as herself face off successfully against large adversaries. How he knew this, he couldn't say.

They spoke often but hiding their relationship from their superiors was becoming difficult. It was easy enough to sneak into each other's rooms at night and sneak out again before they were missed. But having to see each other several times a week, surrounded by people trained to sniff out secrets? Well, it was a challenge.

Keeping it professional wasn't as much fun as she would prefer, but she was very aware of what might happen if they were discovered. It wasn't worth it, just to tease him when they were sparring. So she would remember her jabs and tell him later, when they were alone. Sometimes, she could make him laugh, and those moments were her happiest.

Finally, after months of training, the Black Widows were sent into the field. Including herself. It was a relief to find that they did not insist on treating them all again before they left. Her joy at leaving the facility at last was soon diminished. They were moved to Leningrad, to a dormitory near the opera house. Her days were filled with dancing, hardly different from before.

It was over a week before they were sent on a mission, long enough that she had begun to think this was all a ruse to get a new ballet troupe. It was a fancy dinner, and even the most hardened of the girls couldn't restrain their excitement at the chance to finally do something. Especially if that something involved wearing beautiful backless dresses and having their hair done up in the newest style, whatever that was.

Madame B arrived to give them their orders, which were just to mingle and prove their ability to maintain their covers. That was something of a disappointment, but Natalia was determined to enjoy the evening nonetheless. The first few hours passed without incident – she would be introduced to someone, speak to them with an intentional Russian accent, be demure and charming, laugh at jokes she didn't necessarily understand or find amusing, then be introduced to someone else. Working the room, Madame B had called it. Because this was a competition – everything was – Natalia was intent on meeting and charming everyone present.

To her surprise, Colonel Shostakov was in attendance. A majority of the guests were foreign dignitaries, so he must have been well-connected indeed to warrant an invitation. She approached him confidently.

"Ah, Natasha, isn't it?" he asked, eyes flickering away from her as though nervous.

"What a wonderful memory you have," she told him sweetly.

"I hope you're feeling better this evening. Will you be dancing for us?"

He seemed uncomfortable and she smiled, taking his arm. "Only if some handsome young man asks me."

"It would be my pleasure," he replied and she had a moment to wonder at his sincerity before she found herself on the dancefloor. The moves were second nature to her by now and she had a chance to get a better look at the crowd as they moved around the room.

"Are you in town for long, Comrade Shostakov?"

"Alexei," he corrected gallantly. "Not long, I'm afraid. I'll be returning to Moscow tomorrow."

"Oh no! You will miss our performance on Friday."

"A devastating loss, I'm sure," he agreed.

She smiled winningly at him. "Perhaps you will return soon to see us before our tour goes elsewhere."

"I shall do my best to try," was his seemingly sincere promise.

They spoke little more before the dance ended and he took his leave of her. She wasn't sure if she had successfully smoothed over their last encounter or not. Certainly Madame B would commend her for trying, though. She headed over to the refreshment table and stared down at an array of confectionary the likes of which she had never seen.

"You'll like the third on one the left, I think."

Glancing up, she was shocked to see the Winter Soldier. He was wearing an officer's coat, with gloves to hid his metal hand. The look on his face was strictly professional, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he gestured toward the dessert he'd suggested.

She smiled at him in what she hoped was a politely distant way, and tasted the treat. He was right, of course. It was amazing, and she let herself grin in delight. Surely that wouldn't be against her cover? Ballerinas were likely on as strict a diet as operatives were, and would be as pleased with the chance to let loose a bit.

"What are you doing here?" she murmured between mouthfuls.

"Working, same as you. Better get back out there to mingle, before anyone notices you here," he told her.

"Is that what you're doing, mingling?"

He snorted. "That's not exactly in my job description. Though I've been enjoying watching you."

His gaze was intense and she wondered if he was bothered by her flirting. It wasn't real, she wanted to tell him. It was just the job. Maybe later. "I'll get back to giving you something to watch, then," she said with a wink, and headed back to the crowd.

* * *

Hours later, Natalia had removed her fancy clothing and was wearing something far more practical as she made her way through the darkened halls of their dormitory. The front door wasn't locked and she moved purposely toward the hotel where she knew the Winter Soldier was spending the night. The address had been written in the wrapper of the confection and she had been impressed by his spycraft. He was usually called in for more brute force assignments, after all.

She climbed up the fire escape, keeping an eye out for anyone who might notice her moving in the darkness. It took some time, but she reached his room eventually. "Natalia," he breathed as he opened the window, and she had enough time to think that it had been too long before he pulled her to him and she thought of little else.

* * *

"And where do you think you're going?" she asked, sitting up and pulling the sheet to keep herself covered.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," he answered as he pulled on his trousers. He paused, looking up at her like he was trying to commit the sight of her in his bed to memory.

"Take me with you," she suggested, stretching and giving him more to look at. Or maybe tempt him to stay.

"You know I can't do that." His tone made it clear that her action had the effect she had been going for. "If anyone found out about us, we'd be sent to Siberia, or worse," he added, buttoning his coat. Then he leaned over to kiss her gently. "And remember to go out the back windows. In the shadows. The Kremlin has eyes everywhere. I'll see you soon."

She watched him go, and settled back with a sigh. How soon?


	8. Secrets Lie In Our Wake

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

 **ClicheMelancholy: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the suspense :D Yeah, I like the idea of how they'd act discreetly in public. Yes, Alexei... I hope you like how it all goes down! (though, of course, you probably already know)**

 **Secrets lie in our wake, your kiss tastes better outside the light of day**

It seemed that Natalia would be undercover as a ballerina for a long time. Their actual performances were never more than once a week, but their assignments were every evening. Some party or another was going on that the girls were expected to attend. The ballet company was on the move, first through other Soviet countries before going to the West. Natalia supposed this was to make sure they were tested before be allowed to work somewhere with more freedom.

This was not the first time Natalia had left her homeland, but the other trips had been short and uneventful. Mostly, Ivan had people he wanted to meet and they wouldn't or couldn't come to Moscow. The meetings were clandestine, and brief, so Natalia had seen little of the world as they hurried back to Moscow to claim never to have left it.

Now, with more time to explore, Natalia was amazed by how different life was in these places. Things that affected the rest of her country had never been directly part of her life, not with Ivan to take care of her, and certainly not in the Red Room, but she knew how common they were for her fellow Russians.

Not that she was given much in the way of free time. Madame B kept them busy, training all day and going to parties late into the night. They were given specific assignments at each party. Sometimes it was as simple as coaxing a secret out of a particular individual, sometimes it was something more complicated, like convincing a mark that they had known each other previously in order to gain unparalleled trust.

Natalia had no problem completing any assignment she was given. Some of the girls struggled, she was pretty sure, but no one mentioned anything in her presence. No one was sent home, so they couldn't have been doing terribly. Still, Madame B always seemed happy to see her, which must mean she was doing better than the others.

Weeks passed and she didn't see the Winter Soldier. It was hard to remember what made her a human being, not just their tool, without anyone to talk to. She flirted with people at the parties but could never share something that was actually true about herself. Covers could be more effective if she included some facet of her own personality, she had been taught, but felt it was too risky here.

So, Natalia retained her first name and nothing else about her life. Her ballerina self was born in a small town far from Moscow, to proper proletariat parents. It was a great honor to be selected by the Bolshoi and to travel to Moscow to be trained. Her parents were very proud of her achievements. It was good to be able to show those bourgeoisie Europeans and Americans what a common Russian girl could do.

Talking about her parents and her life in provincial Russia was an entertaining exercise in creativity. She was always careful to ask the person to whom she was speaking where they came from before referring to her place of birth, to be sure she didn't accidentally make herself from the same place. If necessary, she could always claim that her birthplace was such and such, but she had been raised by an aunt in another town and remembered the first place poorly.

Mostly, though, she spoke about dancing. That was what everyone wanted to hear. So she talked about when she'd started, how she had been selected, the grueling nature of the art, what flexible positions her body was capable of achieving now. That last one was only when it was necessary for some calculated effect, of course.

Once they left the Soviet Union, she no longer saw Alexei Shostakov. That was relief. Madame B had given her a specific assignment regarding him, and she had a sinking feeling that it wasn't just to continue smoothing over their introduction. He was a valuable mark for a closer look at the Russian government, and Madame B was the sort who wanted to know everything. She wasn't satisfied with merely working against other countries, not when presented with an opportunity to influence her own.

Natalia had learned this by being conveniently early to all her debriefings with Madame B. She would arrive in time to hear her wrapping up the previous meeting. It wasn't always useful information, but it definitely gave Natalia a strong impression about the headmistress of their program. She was motivated and ambitious, which were admirable traits in the service of Mother Russia. Less admirable was Natalia's feeling that Madame B had little concern for the consequences of her actions.

Debriefings were nearly daily, since the missions were that often. They were small missions, of course, but Natalia went almost every afternoon to tell Madame B how the previous evening had gone and to receive her orders for that evening. Since Natalia was always early, she sat demurely outside Madame B's office and maintained her cover well enough not to arouse suspicion. No one would suspect ballerina Natalia of being overly intelligent or worry about her eavesdropping. She didn't expect this ruse to work on Madame B, of course, but it was easy to go unnoticed when she chose to be.

One afternoon, after doing this for over a month, Natalia had to struggle not to perk up at the mention of the Winter Soldier. Unfortunately, Madame B was on the phone, so she only had half of the conversation to overhear. Something about an official planning to defect, to be stopped by their best asset. Madame B spoke of the man's whereabouts and Natalia was delighted by her good luck. The Winter Soldier was coming on a mission here!

* * *

Natalia was almost buzzing with energy as she went to the party that evening. More good luck – Madame B had given her a simple task. She worked through it easily, then told one of the other girls she felt ill and was going home. Naturally, good Russian agent that she was, she did go home, making sure she was seen by several people along the way.

Once in her room, she changed out of her party dress into her tactical gear, and slipped out the window. Moving silently through the streets, she hoped to find him just as he was finishing his mission. Then they would have a bit of time together before he had to return to his masters. Ideally. If not, well, it would be nice to see him again, regardless. Even if it were only for a moment.

There! He was perched on a fire escape, motionless behind a sniper rifle. No one else would have noticed him – she did because she was looking and had overheard how he was to proceed. A little early, then, she thought, and melted into the shadows. She would hate to mess up his work.

The official in question was heading toward his car and she glanced away, listening for the gunshot. Instead, she heard a sing-song voice and small footsteps. Looking back quickly, she cringed at the sight of a little girl running toward the man.

"Poppa!" the girl cried happily.

"My little Snowflake!" the man replied, holding out his arms just as the gunshot went off.

It had all happened very quickly – no wonder the Winter Soldier had missed. The official's arm was bleeding but he was definitely not dead. He was accompanied by some men, unfortunately, and they were running and shouting and pointing toward where the Winter Soldier was – or had been. Already, he had disappeared.

Across the street, the mark was making a run for it, foolishly leaving the others behind. Natalia sprang into action, following him. He was panicking and unfocused so she was confident in her ability to catch up. It was just too bad that he'd had the presence of mind to bring his daughter.

Out of nowhere, the Winter Soldier dropped gracefully to the ground not two meters away. "Need some help?" she offered nonchalantly in English.

"You shouldn't be here," he replied sharply.

"Nice to see you, too," was her teasing response. She understood why he would be on edge, but hoped he wouldn't see her presence as a hindrance. Her instincts in these kinds of situations were nearly as good as his, after all.

"Get the child out of the way. I'll take care of the target," he ordered.

Pleased to be involved, she smiled as they ran after the official and his daughter, who had disappeared down an alley. Natalia was not particularly familiar with this part of the city, but she ran on ahead and around to block their escape. Once they were cornered, the Winter Soldier slowed his approach.

"Do you really want your daughter to witness this, Ivanovich?" he asked in Russian, his tone cold despite what he was actually offering. Most operatives would have just killed them both and been done with it.

""Don't hurt her," Ivanovich begged.

"She's in no danger. Widow, take her away," the Winter Soldier told her.

"Come, little one," she said as soothingly as she could to the child.

"No! Poppa, please!" the girl cried.

Extricating himself from his daughter's embrace, Ivanovich looked at them resignedly. "Go with her, dear one," he said.

Natalia took the girl's hand and turned her away from her father, trying not to think of Ivan. Would someone ever be sent to kill him? If she kept advancing in the Red Room, might it be her?

"She shouldn't have been here," the Winter Soldier muttered, though it was unclear to whom he was speaking. The tell-tale sound of him stabbing his mark was deafening and Natalie pulled the little girl closer.

"It's okay, little one," she lied.


	9. Gnaw Your Shoulder, Scratch Your Back

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Gnaw your shoulder, scratch your back, break my knuckles, feel them crack**

Natalia sent the girl back in the direction of the guards, then she and the Winter Soldier found an alleyway in which to hide.

"She wasn't supposed to be there," he kept muttering, shaking his head.

"Hey," she murmured, touching his shoulder. He looked up at her sharply and she had to resist stepping back. Then his expression cleared and he pulled her to him.

"It's been a long time," he whispered into her hair.

She clung to him just as fiercely. "Maybe we'll go back to Moscow soon."

Shrugging, he let go and moved away to look at her. "How is your first field experience going, Natalia?"

The curiosity in his tone made it clear that it wasn't like the countless assessment questions she was always answering. "I like it. Maintaining my cover is not a challenge and civilians appear to be very easy to manipulate."

That brought a laugh at of him and she grinned, enjoying the rare sound. He looked quite handsome when he smiled. "Yes, I'm sure no one would be prepared for what you can do."

High praise indeed, and she flushed slightly. "They've been keeping you busy, I imagine."

He shrugged, smile fading. "Not enough. It's hard to be at the facility and know you're not there," he explained quietly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

Taking his hand, she pressed a kiss to it. "I miss you, too."

"Come on," he said abruptly, and led her back toward the street. They walked, keeping to the shadows, until he started climbing a fire escape. She followed, wondering how well he knew the layout of this city, as they had certainly strayed far from his designated path to the job. For her part, she wasn't exactly lost but would have to do some retracing of steps to get back to a place she knew.

On the fifth floor, he opened a window and they slipped inside what was clearly a hotel room where he was being kept. She had only a moment to take in the scene before he pulled her to him again.

* * *

Natalia returned to her room very late, hoping that lessons wouldn't start too early in the morning. She managed to avoid being seen and dropped heavily onto her bed. Exhaustion caused her head to nod but she forced herself to stay awake long enough to change out of her tac gear and put it all away. Then she slid back into her bed, trying not to dwell on the thought that it might be a long time before she saw him again.

* * *

Weeks passed. One morning, Madame B announced to all the girls that they would be going back to Moscow for a little while. Their covers would remain intact, but it was common for there to be a break between shows. The rest of the company who was not employed by the Red Room would be returning to their families, and it might be suspicious if they did not do the same. So, they would claim to return to their loved ones while they really returned to the Red Room.

Natalia struggled to hide her excitement at the thought of seeing the Winter Soldier again. Assuming he was still there. Assuming he wasn't on another mission. Assuming he was even still being used by the Red Room. The last one wasn't one she cared to consider further – what would she do if he was moved to another department? She had been able to glean that he had come here from Siberia and there was always the chance that he might go back.

The travel took several days, but soon she was standing in her old familiar room. It was strange to consider that she felt relieved to be here again. Almost like coming home. Not the same as the home she'd had with Ivan, but perhaps close to it. The first morning was just like the dozens before it, and the ballerinas rejoined the Widows ranks as though they had never left. It was a long day, especially since she was waiting so impatiently to be released for the evening. To find out if the Winter Soldier was here or not.

Just as their last class was ending, Madame B showed up in the doorway. That was never good news and the Widows looked at her apprehensively.

"Natalia," she said calmly, and the relief in the room was palpable.

Hiding her dismay at being singled out, Natalia trailed after the other girls as they left and stopped in front of the headmistress. There were plenty of reasons Madame B might want to talk to her, she tried to reassure herself as they waited for the others to be out of earshot. Not that such a tactic was really all that effective in a school of spies.

"Your first field job has been a resounding success, my dear. You have outpaced your peers yet again."

"Thank you, Madame," she answered dutifully.

The woman smiled at her. "As a result, we have selected a very special job for you. Come along."

Pleased by the praise, Natalia followed her. And had to hide her fear when it became apparent that they were going to the room where treatments were done. Madame B did not say another word as Natalia obediently got into the chair and laid back. Glancing at the headmistress, she had time to wonder if she would remember the Winter Soldier the next time she saw him before everything went black.

* * *

The Winter Soldier was standing just outside the door, apparently unaffected by the snow around him. Perhaps he lived up to his name, she thought idly as she walked over to him. His expression brightened at the sight of her.

"Winter Soldier," she said formally and his face immediately became impassive.

No, that wasn't right. He should be happy to see her – she was happy to see him, though she wasn't sure why. Oh well, perhaps he could explain things to her. "I wanted to tell you that I am betrothed to Alexei Shostakov, the pilot," she felt compelled to tell him. He was watching her carefully, assessing. She didn't think she liked that, so she stood on her toes to kiss him.

His kiss was tentative and he didn't otherwise move. When she stepped back, he was still watching her. "Thank you, comrade," he said slowly. "For coming here in person to tell me of your forthcoming marriage."

He waited, as though expecting her to speak. She didn't know what to say, or what she was supposed to say, so just looked at him hopefully.

"We were sweethearts, now we are not." The phrasing brought a smile to her face, though she wasn't sure why. "It is a great honor to marry a test pilot hero of the Soviet Union," he continued, faltering at her smile.

"Yes, Comrade Winter Soldier. I only fear that such a marriage may lessen my usefulness to the Bolshoi." She stopped, shook her head. "No, that's my cover story. I mean, to the Red Room."

A look of concern had come over his face, but he was prevented from saying anything by footsteps approaching.

"Natasha?!"

She stepped back instinctively, somehow knowing that she shouldn't let anyone see her like this. Besides, the person who called her name made her want to smile, too. She turned around and knew he was… Ivan! That was his name.

"They gave me leave to come and see you. Obviously what I hear about you getting married can't be true," he said as he got close enough not to shout, glancing uncertainly at the Winter Soldier. The latter's expression had become impassive again.

"Ivan! I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you," she told him and embraced him. Yes, Ivan. The man who had taken her in, who had trained her before coming here. Here being the Red Room, not the Bolshoi – that wasn't real. Well, she had worked for them, but it was because the Red Room told her to. Wasn't it? And what about the Winter Soldier? Was she supposed to be kissing him? Or Alexei?

"I can't tell what's true anymore," she whispered in Ivan's ear, aching for him, for anyone, to explain things to her.


	10. I Reveal Nothing, We Both Play it Fake

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

 **I reveal nothing, we both play it fake, pretend not to worry**

Ivan, whom she knew, was yelling at some woman. Whom she also knew, but didn't have any positive feelings towards as far as she could tell. The Winter Soldier – she liked him, definitely. Was a little perplexed by his behavior, but that could probably be explained. And Ivan, obviously she liked him. He was like a father to her probably. What about Alexei, the man she was supposed to marry? She wasn't sure. She couldn't picture him.

"She is one of _my_ agents and you forget yourself, sir," the woman snarled venomously as she opened the door to her office.

Ivan was glaring at her, out of breath from whatever he had been saying. "She will not be yours for long if you treat her this way. She is no… no brood mare to be sent out to stud."

The woman drew herself up. "Our agents are not trained for such lowly purposes. He is a well-connected young man and she will be able to gather invaluable intelligence by playing as his innocent wife."

"Does he know?"

"That she's an agent? Yes, he will be briefed. It need not be more than a political marriage."

That seemed to calm Ivan down. "Good. Stop messing with her mind. She is perfectly capable of maintaining a cover without his machinations. I don't know why you would subject your prized Widows to something so barbaric."

"We all do what we must," the woman said dismissively.

Ivan held out his hand to help Natalia to her feet and led her slowly back to her room.

"How have you been?" she asked as they walked.

He looked at her a little sharply. "Just fine, my dear. They're keeping me busy. I hear you're doing well."

"Yes, I learn the dances very quickly. I mean, I complete the assignments they give me quickly. Faster than the others."

"I'm glad to hear it. And not at all surprised, of course," he added with a wink.

"I haven't seen you in a long time," she stated after a pause.

He considered. "No, it has been a while. Several months. I don't think they want us seeing each other. Might decide to defect and do our own thing after all this great training," he joked, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "But they keep me updated on your work and I'll do my best to find you when I can."

She nodded, vaguely, aware they had stopped in front of a door. Her door, probably.

"Get some rest. Things should make more sense when you've slept. Hopefully they don't do this to you again," he added darkly, then embraced her.

When he had disappeared down the hallway, she opened the door and walked inside. It was not a familiar room. It was large, with a queen bed and nightstands, and a window. Probably not something every agent was given. Special treatment because of Ivan or because of her impending marriage? Who knew. She sank onto the bed and hoped Ivan was right.

* * *

It was night when Natalia awoke. She stared up at the ceiling and replayed the afternoon, hating herself and Madame B for making her feel like a fool. It was as bad as that first meeting with Alexei. Except worse, since she actually cared what the Winter Soldier and Ivan thought of her, and would have much preferred to say more meaningful things to them in one of the precious few conversations she was allowed to have.

She couldn't remember how she had known where to find the Winter Soldier. Or why she had felt the need to do so in the middle of the day. They were so careful about when they were seen together. Ivan wouldn't mention it to anyone, of course. Or probably think anything of it, but the fact that she'd found him at all… Had she been sent to find him after being treated to be ready to marry Alexei? Had it been a test of loyalty? Of the treatment? Had she passed?

The sound of her window opening startled her, and she pulled up her blanket reflexively.

"You shouldn't be here," she admonished the Winter Soldier as he climbed inside. "They'll kill you if they find out."

"I don't care," he replied, pulling the glass back into place behind him.

"I'm promised to someone else," she tried again, afraid of what would happen if he stayed. How long could they keep doing this?

"I know, he's an ass." He leaned down to kiss her and she accepted it.

"Wait," she whispered before they could get too carried away. Moving slightly away immediately, he regarded her.

"What's wrong, Natalia?"

He sounded worried. Like he was afraid he'd hurt her. Reassuringly, she reached up to touch his face. "I don't remember things."

"I know the feeling," he replied with a soft smile.

It was a rare thing, that smile, and she thought she'd do anything to see it again. Maybe her worries could wait until later. But they would eat at her and she would much prefer to enjoy the time they had together. "How did I find you?"

"This afternoon?"

"Yes. I don't remember anything after Madame B took me in for treatment."

His expression darkened and he sat up. "Do you think she knows?"

He wasn't looking at her and she felt suddenly so alone. Wrapping her arms around herself, she considered. It was usually so easy for her to read people, to know what they thought of her. But Madame B was of course an expert. And Natalia had been distracted. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part to believe she could ever fool her masters.

"Maybe. What will she do?"

It was clear that he was considering how truthfully to answer. She reached out to touch his shoulder and he turned to look at her. Seeing the expression on her face, he drew her into his arms and sighed into her hair. "So long as your missions are not compromised, it's possible she won't care. You've shown your prowess in the field despite… despite being involved with me. So she might turn a blind eye."

She bit her lip, hating the elephant in the room. "But my newest mission is to get married."

"Yes."

"It seems like they might have a problem with… with things like this. Or my new husband might, anyway."

His grip tightened on her and he nodded wordlessly.

Taking a deep breath, she studied him achingly, trying to memorize his face.

"What do you want to do, Natalia?"

"What do you want to do? I… expect I have some protection from them that you do not," she explained when he glanced at her.

He snorted darkly. "Yes, they can do whatever they want to me. To control me. And, after the botched assassination with Ivanovich…" He trailed off.

Natalia had forgotten about that. Or not realized the gravity of it. "Do you want to stop?" she asked anxiously. If he did, she understood. It was dangerous and breaking it off would protect both of them. The longer they kept doing this, the more likely they would be caught. Or, if their secret was already known, then it was more likely their masters would see it as compromising.

The Winter Soldier was staring intently at the floor, thinking. She wished she knew his name or had something to call him. Lacking anything to bring him out of his thoughts, she gently touched his face and he turned to look at her, expression bleak.

"Natalia…"

She took a deep breath, prepared for the impending rejection. It would make sense, it would be safer, she told herself.

"I've never… I don't remember anything like this. As long as I can remember, I was working. I was a tool. No one… No one has ever spoken to me as anything other than a weapon. I'm not an agent like you are, Natalia. I just get sent in to solve the problem. I don't work with anyone, no one asks my opinion. No one has treated me like… like a human being. Until I met you."

He cupped her cheek and brushed his lips across hers. "I was sent to make a deal. I don't know why – I think I was supposed to be a show of strength or intimidation. But you didn't look at me that way. You looked at me like I was there to rescue you. I couldn't… I couldn't stand the idea of not living up to your expectations," he added with a self-effacing smile.

She smiled back, feeling tears prick her eyes.

"You're an amazing woman, Natalia. I'm sure you'll go farther than anyone else. And I'd like to see it, as long as I can. Whatever they might do to me, it'll be worth it."

Her cheeks flushed under the intensity of his gaze, and she pulled him closer to show exactly how grateful she was for his sentiment.


	11. Our Hearts, Your Heart's At Stake

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

 **ClicheMelancholy: Aww, thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying the heartbreak.**

 **Our hearts, your heart's at stake**

Natalia didn't know how they were caught. No one spotted one of them in the hallway, they didn't react to each other in public, her training performance didn't change. She wasn't called upon to see Alexei Shostakov or move forward with her marriage. Perhaps the Winter Soldier knew what happened. But one night, without warning, her door was broken down.

The violence was unnecessary – it wasn't as though any agents were permitted to lock their doors. She always wondered, after, what they would have done if he hadn't been there. They were discreet and didn't see each other every night. But she supposed they had checked for him elsewhere first. Perhaps that was the problem.

It wasn't anyone she knew, breaking down her door. Just soldiers. The Winter Soldier reacted to an attack the way he'd been trained to, the way they were clearly expecting him to. Someone fired something and he went down, an electrical shock coursing through him. While the rational part of her brain expected no less from them, she was upset by the sight.

"Leave him alone! It's not his fault!" she shouted, grabbing at the man who was clearly in charge.

He pushed her aside roughly. "I think, from now on, you let me worry about my soldiers, Little Natalia," he told her.

His soldiers? She looked at him sharply. There wasn't anything on his uniform to indicate his rank. Just his general air of authority to indicate he was in charge of these men. He hadn't even given any orders. The others grabbed the Winter Soldier and dragged him from the room, and she was surprised to be dragged along as well.

They were taken to an unfamiliar room, but the chair in the middle was similar enough to one she knew for her to guess its purpose. The Winter Soldier was strapped into it as he started to come around. "Natalia," he murmured, looking at her.

She resisted experimentally but the soldiers holding her knew their business and she would not easily escape. Not without hurting someone and getting them into even more trouble. So she took a deep breath to settle in. She could endure this. It was happening to him and she could bear witness to it.

"She belongs to the Red Guardian," the man in charge told the Winter Soldier coldly.

"You think she belongs to anyone? Then you are as foolish as the others, Karpov," he replied, not looking away from her. She wanted to smile at the statement but couldn't.

Karpov, apparently, snorted. "Well, you'll soon forget all this." He nodded toward a man in a lab coat standing near some kind of control panel.

Natalia ignored them and continued to watch the Winter Soldier, well aware that this might be the last time he looked at her like this. He didn't speak again and she knew better than to do so, but they didn't need to. She knew what he was thinking, feeling, and hoped he could tell she felt the same way.

When the chair leaned back and he screamed, she tore her eyes away and didn't stop the tears that came. The screams went on and on and she couldn't understand how everyone could stand there impassively. How he could keep this up without passing out. How she couldn't move to stop them.

Finally, finally, it was over. He sat up, silent, shuddering occasionally, and stared blankly ahead. She remembered the first time she'd seen him. The room did not hold any interest for him and he didn't look at her, or anyone else.

"Good morning, Soldier," Karpov said.

"Ready to comply," was the monotone response.

Karpov smiled. "Good. We have work to do to prevent… distractions in the future. Take her away," he added to the other soldiers.

Natalia stood up to keep them from having to drag her from the room as unceremoniously as she had been dragged into it. When she reached the door, she glanced back for one last look, then allowed herself to be led away. It was hardly a surprise when she was taken to Madame B's office.

The woman looked tired, maybe a little harried. Perhaps she had also been made to suffer for Natalia's indiscretion.

"Good evening, Madame," Natalia said politely as the soldiers left her there.

Madame B looked up at her sardonically. "Yes, a lovely evening to punish my best agent for her poor performance."

Natalia raised an eyebrow. "My performance? Has that slipped? Have I become anything other than the best of your agents?"

"No, I suppose not," Madame B replied slowly.

"Then what exactly have I done to merit punishment?" Natalia's hands were shaking and she folded them demurely in her lap. She would do anything to avoid having her mind messed with, too. If she still remembered, well, maybe she could remind him. If neither of them remembered…

"Your inappropriate behavior with the Winter Soldier."

Natalia snorted. "Are you telling me that no other agents are engaged in… dalliances? Do you treat all of them this way when you find out?"

Shaking her head, Madame B stood up to pace a little. "It's natural to want to blow off some steam from time to time, and doing so with another agent is preferable to seeking company outside of our walls. But the Winter Soldier is Colonel Karpov's pet project. He's worked very hard on it and he shouldn't… he shouldn't need. He shouldn't have any needs except to complete his mission. There wasn't supposed to be the capacity for him to develop any sort of feelings."

It was hard not to smile bitterly at that. Had she really managed to break his programming the way he'd broken through hers? She hadn't realized that, and she thought of his impassive face with resolve. She could do it again.

"Stop that," Madame B said sharply.

"Stop what?" she asked, startled.

The woman leaned down to look her in the eye. "Stop thinking that you'll have an effect on him ever again. Karpov was very upset. He will take precautions, put in fail-safes. It won't work again, whatever you did this time. He is an agent of Department X, same as you. To make him other than what his handlers want would be treason, Natalia."

She bit her lip and stared intently at the floor.

"Oh, I see," Madame B's voice softened. She reached out and patted Natalia's shoulder. "Love is for children. Now it's time to work."

* * *

Natalia did as she was told. When she was sent for treatments, she went. It was almost nice to forget for a little while. Well, she supposed it must be, because it was painful when her memories returned. The Winter Soldier's screams echoed in her dreams whether she was treated for a cover or not. Despite what Madame B had said, it deepened her resolve to find him. To do what when she found him, she wasn't sure. But she would find him.

Time passed. It didn't make any difference how much. She danced for the Bolshoi, married Alexei, was widowed in an explosion. None of it really mattered. The part she was to play was easy and she did it perfectly. It was pleasant to be able to disappear into someone else for a while.

With Alexei gone, she started getting other kinds of missions. Less manipulation of powerful people and more information finding. She became adept at sneaking through offices at night, searching for some particular file or another. Locked doors were no hindrance and she enjoyed defeating ever more complicated security precautions.

Madame B sent her to spy on her countrymen as well as the enemy. They could never be too careful when it came to those who would desert to the west, promising information as a guarantee of safe passage. It was essential that such information not be allowed to leave the country. Natalia didn't like those jobs – it left a bad taste in her mouth. Perhaps because of the botched mission with the Winter Soldier or because she had begun to think that Mother Russia wasn't all it was cracked up to be. That maybe a place that created so many traitors was not a place worth defending.

In whatever time she could, she searched for the Winter Soldier. He had been removed from the Red Room facility immediately after they were discovered. No one had mentioned him and it took some digging to find even the slightest indication he actually existed. Finding him would be nearly impossible, but she did what she could on any mission that involved national intelligence. Someone knew where he was and she was determined to track him down. If he had been placed under increased security and had his mind forcibly molded further to his master's will, well, that was her fault. And she couldn't let that stand while doing nothing.

Natalia caught wind of a warehouse where Department X stored files and things they would prefer not to be found. It was the best lead she'd gotten in a long time, and she could hardly wait to complete the mission she was on before going to check it out.

Security was as intense as expected, but she had experience dealing with worse. It took some time, but she finally dropped to the floor of the building. There were shelves over three meters high, full to the brim with files and boxes. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Still, it would be worth it.

It was tempting to read everything she could get her hands on, and she read a great deal. But she forced herself to focus on things that would help her. This place was huge and she couldn't stay past dawn. She had always been able to remember anything she read, so she gleaned as much information as she could, as quickly as she could.

Dawn was approaching and she took a last look around, wondering if she should take something with her, when she saw something that froze her in her tracks.

"No! What have they done to you?" she cried, seeing a familiar face suspended in a tube – cryogenically frozen. She recoiled in horror for just a moment before walking closer to look at him. Taking him out of this without the proper equipment could kill him. She looked around desperately for some way to free him, but this was just a storage facility. And the Winter Soldier was just in storage.

She heard footsteps and cursed under her breath. "I'll come back for you," she promised before slipping back out the way she'd come in.


	12. Hard to Believe You Could Cause Me Harm

**A/N: Thank you for all the favorites, followers, and reviews! I hope you enjoy this last chapter!**

 **Hard to believe you could cause me harm**

Natalia had tried. But the facility was empty the next night. Hastily emptied, by the look of it. Had someone known she was there? Surely she hadn't become that sloppy? In any case, the trail ran cold after that. No mention of the Winter Soldier could be found anywhere and most sources thought he was a myth. She didn't give up, but it was hard to keep up the search. Especially when so much had changed.

It had been years since she'd seen Ivan, or even Madame B. Her handlers were ever changing and her missions unclear. It was easy, when the moment came, to defect. To make a name for herself as the Black Widow. The other Widows were gone, everyone was gone. Her life was so different that sometimes she wondered if any of it had been real.

Clint Barton found her, chose not to kill her. So she'd become Natasha Romanoff, SHIELD agent, Strike Team Delta. The work was easy for her and she realized how much she needed to make up for what she had done. To finally have a place to do that was very important to her. But it didn't really strike home that she had changed sides until she saw him again.

Escorting persons of interest was a regular part of her job. She was good at it. Better doing solo missions, of course, but reliable nonetheless. The scientist outside Odessa was the first one she'd lost. Her handlers had dismissed her claims of the Winter Soldier as a myth, not a reliable lead. But she could not let go how he had shot through her, leaving her alive. Why had he done that? Did he remember? Was there any part of him that did?

Clint's influence kept her from chasing after a ghost when she recovered, and eventually she accepted it. Then she became one of the Avengers, regularly working with Captain America himself. It seemed a strange twist in fate that such a drastic change in circumstances would be what brought the Winter Soldier back into her life. Even if he didn't know her. Even if, stranger still, he did know Captain America.

When she had some time to recover her bearings in Moscow, she sought out Steve. He was in hiding, of course, but he wasn't a spy. He couldn't just disappear. And working with him was easy enough, even though they kept to the shadows. That was easy for her. Easier than being a hero had ever been. Sometimes Steve talked about his friend Bucky, and she would listen as though it meant no more to her than it did to Sam.

She thought a lot about what she might say to him if she saw him again. Though Steve was content to let him make his choice to stay hidden somewhere, it was obvious that he did not expect that to last forever. That he expected his best friend to join him someday. And what would Natasha do when he did?

Working with him would be painful. Seeing him and not being recognized had already been more painful than she had anticipated, and she didn't know if she could bear to make that a regular state of affairs. Even if she would work well with him. Even if Steve hoped they would all make a good team.

Sometimes she thought about telling Steve. But she couldn't. What would she say? Oh, hey, when your buddy was a brainwashed Soviet assassin, he and I _knew_ each other. The thought was ludicrous. Just the idea made her laugh, maybe a little hysterically. No, she couldn't tell Steve. He had his own picture of what being the Winter Soldier must have been like and it was not her place to correct him.

After two years, things outside of anyone's control forced Steve's hand, and he took them to Wakanda. He told her briefly what he knew about it, and that it was where Bucky had been hiding out. Cryogenically frozen. Natasha had hidden her horror at that, telling herself that the Wakandan's technology wouldn't be like Department X's, surely. Steve wouldn't have left him there if that had been the case.

The moment came at last where she saw him again. He looked good. His hair was longer, so he couldn't have been frozen for very long. The Wakandans had helped him. He joked with Sam and Steve, and even with her. But he didn't really look at her.

And then they were off to save the world. Somehow, they ended up in the same transport. She wanted to ask him about that, but she didn't. It could wait. There were more important things happening.

It was like a nightmare. Worse than that. Ever since aliens had attacked New York and she had been one of the few people there to stop them, nothing like this had happened. All her training, all her experience, and she could barely comprehend what was going on.

Sleep escaped her that night and she stood in a kitchen – she didn't know whose – and stared out the window, wondering how they could possibly move forward. How her life could continue in any discernable path. This was far worse than dismantling SHIELD or when the Avengers fought each other. At least then, she'd had familiar ground to return to. Now…

"Oh, sorry," a familiar voice interrupted her.

The Wint – Bucky. He looked chagrined but she wasn't about to let him walk away. This might be her only chance and she wasn't going to pass it up. Still, best not to rush into things and startle him.

"That's a nice gun you've been using."

He ran his fingers through his hair and his expression turned rueful. "It's yours."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. I mean, I guess so. I got it out of a locker with your name on it."

She stared at him for a moment, not comprehending. "When?"

"On the quinjet. After you let me and Steve escape. Thank you for that, by the way," he added, moving closer so they weren't having to shout across the room. Not that either of them had been speaking very loudly.

She regarded him, thinking. "Why did you pick my locker?"

He froze. "Seemed like a good place to look."

"You didn't like Sam's guns?"

There was a pause before he shrugged. "I didn't check Sam's stuff. We… weren't on the best terms."

She smiled. "Unlike you and me."

The silence stretched and she waited patiently, intent on pushing him to give some indication about his feelings. Even if he was just uncomfortable with his best friend's friend whom he'd previously attacked. That would be something.

"Look, I… I'm sorry for what happened."

"When?"

He ran his fingers through his hair again, exasperated this time. "Any time. I have a lot to apologize to you for, don't I?"

"No," she replied, and he looked up at her sharply. His eyes were pretty. Even if his expression was more distressed than she would have preferred.

"You're going to tell me it wasn't my fault, that it wasn't me doing any of those things?" His tone indicated that he was tired of that sentiment.

"I'm not." His confusion and maybe frustration was obvious so she relented. "I know what it's like, to be a weapon. To be used however someone else chooses. That doesn't mean I have no responsibility for what I did, though. Just maybe a reason to believe that I can be… more than the monster they made me."

He was watching her warily at first, but then like he had been waiting to hear that for a very long time. "You're not a monster, Natalia," he murmured, stepping closer to her. How had he gotten so close? Barely a foot away. It made her heart pound rather unexpectedly.

"No?"

"No, you're not," he told her firmly, reaching up to touch her cheek very hesitantly.

She bit her lip, thoughts reeling as she tried to figure out what he could mean by this behavior. "What am I, then?"

"You're a good agent, Natalia. The best. You always amaze me. But that isn't all of who you are."

Taking a deep shuddering breath, she realized she was leaning into his hand and tried to decide if she wanted to stop or not. In any case, she was tired of guessing. "Do you remember it all? Our time together when I was young?" It came out as a whisper, but she had finally managed to ask it. Even if the man before her was so different from the one she'd known in the Red Room. Even if he was a whole person and his time as a weapon was just a small part of his life. Even if he had so little in common with her anymore.

"Yeah, I remember everything, Natalia. And you were the one good thing in all of it."

She felt warmth flood her cheeks for the first time in as long as she could remember. Then she leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. "A little something to let you know I haven't forgotten, either," she told him with a smile.

A grin spread across his face and she felt her heart flutter at the sight. Maybe, when all this was over, there might be something familiar for her after all.


End file.
